


Always Show[Time] Up

by toewsyourheart



Series: Work Song [5]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Love, M/M, Nervousness, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:36:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night before Game 6, and Patrick is nervy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Show[Time] Up

Patrick can’t sleep. Obviously.

He and Jonny began their night in _separate_ rooms, adjoining door open—like, actually in different beds.

Not okay. Absolutely idiotic, if you ask Patrick. 

Jonny had put on his captain voice, been all ‘big day tomorrow, need to be extra focused, eh?’ quiet and contemplating like he gets—like they both get before a huge game—as they were readying themselves for sleep around nine thirty. 

But the thing is, they’ve been in a hotel throughout the entire playoffs, even in Chicago, and not once had they slept apart. So why they would start something like that the night before a game like this—a fucking opportunity to win the Cup in six, in front of _their_ fans, in _their_ city—Patrick’s got no idea.

It only lasted fifteen minutes, though, and it wasn’t even Patrick who caved. 

He won’t deny the smug grin that rose to his face when he heard Jonny huff out a loud breath from inside the bathroom, knowing he was standing there contemplating getting in bed with Patrick, where he damn well _belongs_. It was a stupid idea from the get-go, and that’s the beginning and end of it. 

Patrick’s smug quickly melted to relief when Jonny finally caved, sliding under the covers in behind him and slipping his arm tightly around Patrick’s waist. 

Patrick let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, laid his arm on top, and laced his fingers through Jonny’s. “That’s what I thought, jackass,” he mumbled fondly, settling back against Jonny’s solid, warm chest. 

“Oh, shut up and go to sleep,” Jonny said, pressing his lips to Patrick’s neck, just once, then murmured against his skin, “I only came in here because I knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep without me.” 

“Riiight,” Pat replied sarcastically, chuckling a little. “For sure, only me.” 

Jonny just grunted in blissfully ignorant agreement—‘mhm’—kissing Patrick’s neck again, and Patrick willed himself to try and get some rest. 

Well, here it is, thirty minutes later, and Patrick still can’t sleep—wide awake, mind racing. 

Tomorrow is monumental. A big stage like this…god, it’s what Patrick lives for, what their team lives for—the kind of thing you dream up as a kid, playing ball hockey with your friends. 

Patrick’s in awe of the chance they’ve got, to do something truly special, and it hasn’t come easy. They’ve worked their asses off for this, fought hard as hell to get here, and he wants it so fucking bad.

He wants it for his teammates. For Q. For Clint. For the city.

He wants it for Jonny. 

Jesus, Patrick can’t believe he’s getting the opportunity to bring home a third Stanley Cup _with him_ —that part, is _more_ than he ever could have dreamed up. 

‘If you could just show up for this one, that’d be nice,’ Patrick scolds to himself, and—fuck, he doesn’t mean that, but he does. He hasn’t been invisible, but he hasn’t been scoring, and it’s infuriating. But they’re winning, and that’s all that matters. 

All that matters. 

Patrick wonders if Jonny’s asleep, tries to listen over the sound of his blaring thoughts for Jonny’s even breathing. He’d turned over a few minutes ago, probably gotten hot. 

Finally the silence gets the better of Patrick; he’s got to talk this out now or he’ll never get to sleep. He hasn’t been very good at hiding his frustrations from Jonny throughout this series anyway—he never is—so he’s not going to start now. 

“Jon, you awake?” Patrick asks, rolling over to face Jonny’s back. 

“’Course I am. How could I be asleep with you thinking so loud over there?” he mumbles back, and Patrick grins sheepishly, fondness welling in his chest. Sometimes he thinks Jonny knows him better than he knows himself. 

“Leaving me to suffer in silence then?” Patrick probes, mock-hurt in his voice.

“I knew it’d only be a matter of time—” Jonny says, heaving himself over to his back with a groan. “—before you cracked.” 

“Yeah? Just like earlier I knew it’d only be a matter of time before you were crawling back in here with me, huh?” Patrick counters. 

“Yeah, just like that,” Jonny concedes, then his voice softens. “C’mere.” 

Patrick shifts over, lays his head in the crook of Jonny’s neck, and Jonny wraps his arms around him, rubbing soothingly up and down Patrick’s back. “What’s wrong?” 

“Just—jittery, man, nervous.” 

“Me too. But excited nervous, though, right?” Jonny presses, nuzzling into Patrick’s hair, and he reaches up to drag his nails gently back and forth through the racing stripes. He’s still got it bad for the mullet, and Patrick still loves it. 

“Excited nervous, and just _nervous_ nervous,” Patrick says. “I haven’t been—”

Jonny tightens his arms and interrupts before Patrick can even finish his thought. 

“Don’t even go there, Peeks,” he says, and the nickname is an endearment, coming from Jonny, and Patrick blushes, burrows into his chest. 

“But I haven’t—I haven’t shown up,” Patrick whines. “Not in the last five fucking—” 

“Hey, don’t—you _have_. You’ve been getting your chances, Pat, keeping their D occupied,” Jonny says. 

Patrick grumbles in response. 

“Hell, you’ve even been gettin’ your stick in there on the backcheck, breaking up plays for God’s sake, and we all know _that’s_ a miracle, eh?” Jonny teases, and it makes Patrick chuckle quietly, just like he planned, Patrick imagines. 

“Coming for your Selke next year,” he says, and _that_ inspires a laugh from Jonny. Patrick pokes him in the side, and then starts tracing his fingers along Jonny’s chest—it makes him feel better. Just like talking to Jonny makes him feel better. 

“Seriously, though,” Jonny continues, still scratching through his curls, holding him tight. “You’re extraordinary, Patrick, especially when the stakes are high. Tell me your elimination game stats, and then try and tell me again that you haven’t shown up for this team.” 

“Uhh,” Patrick stalls, embarrassed, because of course he knows them off the top of his head. Nine elimination games over the last two years or so. Six goals, fourteen assists… 

“ _Exactly_ ,” Jonny says, matter of fact. “Just play your game, baby. You always show up.” 

“Thank you,” Patrick whispers, tilting his head up to place a kiss just below Jonny’s jaw. 

Jonny tightens his arms again, and Patrick knows he understands that Patrick doesn’t mean thanks for pumping his tires or whatever (though, that _is_ nice), but for always being here, for believing in him unconditionally. 

“Wouldn’t ever want to do this with anyone else,” Jonny mumbles out around a yawn, like he can read Patrick’s mind. “Now, go to sleep.” 

“Me either, Jon,” Patrick says, a yawn of his own following Jonny’s, and he slowly drifts off into a peaceful sleep, filled with dreams of showtime, cups, and home-crowd clinchers…

**Author's Note:**

> SHAMELESS FLUFF PLUS 1988 BANTER AND I'M NOT SORRY! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Feedback welcome and encouraged. 
> 
> Find me on the tumblr here: [toewsme88](http://toewsme1988.tumblr.com)


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